by Wolf, Bree
Grant’s gaze widened, and he pulled his horse to a halt.
Pulling on her reins, Nessa stopped beside him, her mind racing to put the pieces together. “I remember receiving Connie’s letter, the one she sent begging me to call on her,” her eyes focused on his, “but I didn’t write the one she brought me, the one I’d supposedly written to her.” Vehemently, she shook her head. “I didn’t write it. I’m certain of it.”
Her husband’s forehead creased into a dark frown. “It was that letter that sent you to Cornelia in the first place. Without it, you would not have traveled that day.” They looked at one another, and she could read his thoughts as though he had voiced them out loud.
“Do you think there’s a connection?” Nessa asked, feeling as though the air had been knocked from her lungs.
Gritting his teeth, Grant shrugged. “I’m not certain, but it seems like an awfully strange coincidence, wouldn’t you agree?”
Nessa nodded, overwhelmed by the thought that someone had plotted her accident in order to…what? To make her disappear? To…kill her? Why on earth would anyone do that? “Do you think Mr. Darby wrote that letter?”
Grant shook his head. “I doubt he could feign your handwriting. Also, he would have needed the family seal and…” Sighing, he shook his head once more. “No, I don’t think he wrote it.”
“Then who could have done so? And why?”
Grant shrugged. “We won’t know until we return home,” he said, urging his horse onward. “I’ll speak to Mother and see what she has to say. After all, she did most of the hiring. Perhaps she knows more about Mr. Darby than I do. If not, I’ll call for Mr. Thatcher and have him investigate this further. I’m certain the old fox knows the appropriate people.”
Nessa nodded as they continued to ride side by side in silence.
Indeed, it would be wise to keep an open mind and ask around before jumping to conclusions. Still, Nessa could not silence the small voice that whispered of only one woman who’d had reason to rid herself of Nessa. The one woman who knew Nessa’s handwriting and had access to the family seal. The one woman who had urged her to call on her cousin, assuring her that she would see to Milly. The one woman who hated her with every fiber of her being.
The dowager countess.
Grant’s mother.
Could she truly have done this? An ice cold spread over Nessa’s limbs at the mere thought of it, and she did not dare share this thought with her husband. Despite everything that had happened, Nessa knew that this truth—if it was indeed the truth!—would pain Grant greatly…for many reasons. She would not speak of it until she could be certain.
When they finally arrived home, they went their separate ways. While Grant rushed off to seek out his mother, Nessa hastened into the drawing room where she found her father and cousin sitting over tea. At her entry, they both surged to their feet, faces paling with relief as they rushed forward and drew her into their arms.
“Where on earth have you been?” Connie exclaimed, her watchful eyes gliding over Nessa. “We’ve been beside ourselves with worry!”
“Why would you go to Ravengrove?” her father demanded, a stern look in his eyes that told Nessa how deeply concerned he’d been for her. “And in the middle of the night? What happened?”
Drawing in a deep breath, Nessa shook her head. “Explanations for that have to wait for now,” she told them, then paused, her gaze traveling from one to the other. “I remember,” she whispered, unable to contain the smile that spread over her face.
Her father’s jaw dropped while Connie jumped up with joy, her hands clasped together as she stared at Nessa for confirmation. “You remember? Everything?”
Nessa nodded. “As far as I know,” she replied chuckling, remembering Grant’s earlier question to the same effect.
“What’s wrong?” her father asked as his eyes lingered on her face. His hands reached for hers, and he stepped closer. “You should be overjoyed, but you’re not. What happened?”
Nessa quickly related what she had remembered while hiding out from the rain. Her father’s and cousin’s eyes drew wide, and his color darkened with anger.
“I need to find that letter!” Nessa stressed as she looked from one to the other as though it were within their power to make the letter appear out of thin air.
“Do you think she took it?” Connie asked, her warm brown eyes narrowed in thought. “But where would she put it?”
“I don’t kn—”
“Mamma!”
Turning around, Nessa found Milly and Audrey enter through the terrace doors, their faces flushed and their eyes shining brightly. Quickening her steps, Milly rushed forward and flung herself into her mother’s arms, hugging her tightly. “Where have you been?” she demanded, her chin raised as though in righteous affront as she looked up at Nessa.
“I’m sorry, my dear,” Nessa said as she sank down to look into her daughter’s eyes. “I needed to speak to Lady Remsemere.”
Her daughter’s face scrunched up into a confused frown. “Who?”
“Eugenie,” Nessa clarified.
“You did?” Milly asked, eyes wide with surprise. Behind her, Nessa’s father and cousin bore similar expressions. “I miss her. Can I see her sometime?”
Smiling, Nessa nodded. “I’m sure that can be arranged.” She inhaled a deep breath as her gaze swept over her daughter’s darling face.
Memories stirred deep inside, and she remembered the feeling of holding her newborn daughter in her arms, the way her little fingers had curled around one of Nessa’s as she’d started to walk, the day she’d broken her arm, her little wails and sobs attacking Nessa’s heart like nothing ever before.
Sighing, Nessa squeezed her daughter’s hands. “She helped me remember.”
At her words, Milly’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly and she looked at Nessa with an intensity beyond her years as she mulled over her mother’s words. “You remember?”
“Remember what?” Audrey demanded, curiosity filling her eyes, before her mother drew her back, whispering to her quietly.
Nessa nodded to her daughter. “I remember you.”
Ever so slowly, a smile began to spread over Milly’s face. At first, disbelief clung to it before it grew larger and larger, fighting off the bonds that wanted to contain it. “You remember me?” Milly asked, breathless, and her little eyes shone with utter joy.
Feeling the same happiness engulf her own heart, Nessa nodded as tears began to flood her eyes. “I do. I remember you.”
In the next moment, Milly flung herself into Nessa’s arms once more, hugging her fiercely. “I think I remember you, too,” she whispered as her little arms held on tightly.
Together, mother and daughter sank onto the floor, tears streaming from their eyes, as they turned from the past that had been taken from them and toward a future that would never see them separated. Nessa hugged her daughter with the same fierceness she felt in the arms resting on her shoulders, her hands brushing over the little girls back. “I remember you,” she kept whispering, feeling Milly begin to relax as her words sank in. “I’ll always remember you, my darling girl.”
Sniffling, Milly sat back and rubbed at her eyes. “Will you join our tea party?” she asked, glancing at Audrey who was watching the scene with a confused frown on her little face. “We already have everything set up.”
Brushing a hand over her daughter’s head, Nessa smiled at her. “I would love to, but there is something I need to do first.” Milly’s little face fell. “I promise we will spend all day together tomorrow. You and me, how does that sound?”
Joy returned to Milly’s features. “Can we go horseback riding? And eat cake? And play with my dolls? And—?”
“Yes to all of that,” Nessa exclaimed, cupping her daughter’s face. “I promise.”
Satisfied, Milly nodded, then pushed to her feet and held out her little hand to help Nessa. “What is it that you need to do today?”
Nessa frowned, choosing her words
carefully. “Do you remember the letter I told you about? The one that’s disappeared?”
Milly nodded, and a triumphant twinkle came to her eyes. “I think I know where it is.”
Nessa froze as she stared at her daughter in disbelief. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw equally stunned expressions on her father’s and cousin’s faces as they took steps forward, eager to hear what Milly had to say. “How do you know?” Nessa gasped, uncertain what to ask first.
Milly shrugged, a look of superiority on her little face. “I saw it.”
Closing her eyes, Nessa exhaled a deep breath. “Your telescope.”
Milly nodded eagerly. “I mean, I didn’t see her take it from your room, but she has a letter she keeps hidden in the little treasure box under her bed. Sometimes she takes it out and reads it.” Milly put a finger to her lips in thought. “It must say something awfully fascinating.”
Nessa gritted her teeth before her gaze rose and momentarily met her father’s. “She?” she asked, once more looking at Milly. “Who took the letter?”
“Grandmother,” Milly told her freely, her hazel eyes wide and trusting. “Is she in trouble now?”
Smiling, Nessa squeezed her daughter’s hand. “Do not worry. All will be well.” Fighting the urge to rush from the room, Nessa looked up at her father.
Like many times before, he knew exactly what she needed. “Why don’t we let your mother talk to your grandmother,” he suggested as he turned to Milly, “while we all go and have a cup of tea?” Grinning, he looked from Milly to Audrey. “I admit I’m quite parched. Do you have any tea?”
Milly and Audrey nodded eagerly and before Nessa knew what was happening, the two girls led her father and cousin out of the drawing room and toward their tree house, leaving her alone to stew in silence.
Trying to calm her nerves, Nessa paced up and down the length of the room. Her hands trembled, and her thoughts ran wild.
If Milly was right, then it had, indeed, been the dowager countess who had taken the letter, and if Nessa was not at all wrong, it had also been she who had written it in the first place. But why? Did she dislike Nessa so immensely that she had been willing to rip her from her family?
Sinking onto the settee, Nessa drew in another deep breath, wishing there was some way to calm the rapid beating of her heart. Was this now conclusive proof? Ought she to speak to Grant now? Although Nessa had not seen the letter in her mother-in-law’s possession, she did not doubt Milly’s word as it made perfect sense. Still, the thought of approaching her husband with this news pained Nessa greatly. Even though he was not nearly as close to his mother as she was to her father, the dowager countess was still his mother.
Hearing the truth would be painful.
Again.
Would this ever end?
Chapter Thirty-Five
A Confrontation Long Awaited
After a short inquiry, Brighton directed Grant to the library where he came upon his mother only moments later. Seated in one of the upholstered armchairs, she sat with a book in her lap, her gaze focused.
“Mother!” Grant called as he strode toward her, noting the slight tension that rested in her eyes when she looked up at him.
Ever since Nessa had shared her memories of the day of her accident with him, Grant had had an awful feeling in the pit of his stomach. Whatever Darby might have done—and he would make the man pay for it!—it seemed obvious that he had not acted upon his own volition. Grant was all but certain that someone had paid him to do as he had done. But who?
Grant’s eyes narrowed as he watched his mother rise to her feet. Her pale eyes met his only in passing, and his stomach twisted and turned painfully at the sight. What was she hiding? Was there more than the fact that she had betrayed his confidence and told Nessa about Lady Remsemere’s child?
“Welcome back, Wentford,” his mother greeted him before she turned away, taking an awfully long time to settle her book back onto the shelf. “Were you able to find your wife? Is she all right?” Oh, how Grant wished he would hear honest concern in his mother’s voice!
“I did,” he replied with the same coldness, “and yes, she is fine. We,” he paused, his eyes fixed on his mother’s when she turned to face him, “are fine.” Grant did not know what he had expected. But the way his mother drew in a soft breath before a look of indifference settled on her features was rather disappointing as it did not offer him any clues with regard to her true feelings on the matter.
“That is good,” she mumbled before making to stride past him.
Fuming, Grant grabbed her arm and pulled her back. To his surprise as well as astonishment, he saw that her eyes were wide as they reluctantly rose to meet his.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, pushing his hand off her arm before taking a few steps backwards. With her gaze lowered as she smoothed the nonexistent ruffles in her dress, his mother seemed torn between anger and the need to appear unperturbed.
Forcing his own anger back down, Grant reminded himself that as of yet he still had no answers and, therefore, did not know what truth awaited him behind the lies that had defined his life for so long. “I need to speak with you,” he stated, willing his tone not to betray the depths of his emotions…of his doubts and suspicions. “Nessa remembers.”
His mother’s hands froze in the middle of smoothing out her gown. Her head, however, remained lowered, and Grant could not read her face with certainty. Still, the way she stilled spoke volumes and, for a moment, he had to close his eyes and breathe in deeply lest he lose control.
“Is that so?” his mother replied before her chin rose, a slight quiver in the line of her jaw. “Well, I suppose that’s good news.”
“Of course, it is,” Grant snapped, wondering if his mother’s hatred toward Nessa had only developed recently or if it had been there from the beginning. Certainly, Grant had been aware of his mother’s disappointment when he had presented Nessa as his bride. Still, he knew that while not all mothers approved of their sons’ choices, most were willing to see past their own expectations for the happiness of their children.
With every day that passed, it became clearer that the Dowager Countess of Wentford was not one of those mothers.
“You say she remembers? Are you certain?” his mother inquired, a seemingly indifferent look back on her face. Still, beneath it, Grant thought he saw sheer terror.
Taking a step forward, he held his mother’s gaze, not allowing her to look away. “So far,” he said slowly, “it seems that she remembers everything.”
A long pause hung in the air between them before Grant continued. “In fact, she remembers something unusual about the day of her accident.”
All color drained from his mother’s face. “Is that so?” she replied yet again, her voice shaking as she forced her eyes to remain on his.
Grant took another step toward his mother, forcing her to raise her chin in order to hold his gaze. “It would seem that our coachman, Mr. Darby, deliberately tried to harm her.” Once again, the thought alone sent red hot rage coursing through his veins, and he felt his hand rise and run through his hair.
“That’s impossible!” his mother replied vehemently, a bit of color returning to her features as she stemmed her hands on her waist. Perhaps she had decided that attack was the best form of defense. “Why on earth would he do that?” Her eyes narrowed, and she seemed to be contemplating something. “Can you be truly certain that your wife remembers correctly? After all, her mind was wiped clean for three years it seems and now, all of a sudden, she remembers? I find that a bit odd, wouldn’t you agree?”
Gritting his teeth, Grant continued his line of thinking. “Believe me, Mother, every fiber of my being wishes for it to be a misunderstanding. The thought that someone—anyone!—tried to harm Nessa turns my stomach and freezes the blood in my veins.” He leaned closer, seeing the way his mother deliberately raised her chin a notch. “I need to speak to Mr. Darby and find out what persuaded him to do such a thing. I
s there anything you remember about him? Does he have a family? You must admit he left Wentford Park rather abruptly.”
Swallowing hard, his mother seemed rather eager to discuss Mr. Darby. “I cannot say I know much about the man,” she told Grant, stepping around him, a look of deep contemplation on her face. “I think he was recommended to me, but I cannot recall by whom. There’ve been too many servants over the years that you cannot expect me to remember each little detail about them.” She turned to look at him, and her features seemed to have calmed. “All I do remember is that he said he had a sick relative who required his help and he needed to leave immediately. I’m sorry, Wentford, but that is all I know.”
Grant let out a deep sigh. Had he truly expected his mother to reveal her own involvement? There still was a part of him that did not believe she had, indeed, been involved. But was that not merely a part that did not wish to believe so? A part that hated the thought that his own mother had conspired to rip the woman he loved from his life?
Interpreting his silence favorably, his mother stepped toward him, her eyes softening as she looked at him. “I know this is hard for you. However, I do not believe that anyone tried to harm your wife. Perhaps she is simply confused and misinterprets the few things she does remember. After all, what reason could a man like Mr. Darby have to harm her? Would that not have threatened his own livelihood? And would he truly have stayed on for all those years if, indeed, he had been guilty of what she is laying at his feet? No, I do not believe that to be possible.”
Frowning, Grant shook his head. “Why are you so quick to disregard what Nessa remembers? She, after all, is your daughter-in-law. She is my wife. Why would you not trust her word?”
His mother momentarily dropped her gaze. “It…it is not that I…I doubt her,” she stammered before her voice grew strong once more. “I am merely suggesting that she might be confused. Perhaps she truly believes that he tried to harm her. However, the truth might look differently.”
